Page 45 of On Burning Paths

I reach out to the bridge with my magic, encouraging it to make myself heavy. Sticky. I imagine the bridge would never let me go. I imagine my men holding me tight, their warmth, their scents.

Even as the wind wails against me, battering, relentless, I don’t waiver. I just channel my magic, continuing to make myself stick to the bridge for as long as the wind strikes me.

Over and over this process follows. I make my way inch by inch across the bridge, praying, each time, to make it just a little longer. Thunder roars in my ears, and lightning continues to blind me every so often, as if reminding me of the asshole god.

By the time I reach Thorian on the other side, I’m shaking and boneless. Rather than try to hold onto some semblance of pride, I just collapse into his chest, sobbing into his leather jacket, which is steeped in his scent.

“Nyx, Nyx,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my hair, his voice hoarse. I realize, for the first time, that he was yelling at me from the side. That he was the one who said, You can do it, Nyx. You’re strong. And I heard it in my sister’s voice.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice cracking as he winds his thick arms around me, hauling me up to his body.

His hands plant against my lower back, drawing me impossibly close.

We stand like that for a moment, and I realize he’s fully supporting my weight. With the physical and magical exhaustion of the crossing, I can barely stand up straight.

“You did such a good job,” Thorian whispers, finally, his voice low enough that I can only hear it this close. Wiping my sodden hair away from my face, he leans down and kisses me.

And I kiss him back.

I throw every ounce of wanting, of fear and pain and desire into it. When I rise up on my toes, he uses the hand anchored on my back to draw me in so our chests are flush, so I can feel his heat against my hardened nipples.

The adrenaline of surviving makes my body feel more alive than ever.

When we break apart, we’re both gasping, and his eyes are locked on my lips, like he wants nothing more than to keep going.

If we were anywhere else, I would.

But I hear Fenric’s voice ringing out through the canyon and spin around, watching as Talon races out onto the bridge.

“Watch this,” he calls, practically prancing, a grin spread over his face, “I’ll beat your record, Rian!”

“Be careful! It’s not a race!” Thorian commands, pulling to the side, but keeping an arm around me. My heart clenches with the realization that he means it. For whatever reason, Thorian cares about whether or not Talon lives or dies.

Of course, it could just be due to the fact that he's our teammate now. But deep inside, I know the truth. There's a bond between the four of us, and Thorian is starting to care for the other men the way I do.

In his worry for our vampire, Thorian didn’t even remember to tell him off for the nickname.

Halfway across the bridge, there’s a moment where Talon slips and nearly loses his grip on the chains, which makes Thorian growl in frustration, his hand tightening on my hip when I let out a half-whimper, half-gasp.

But Talon regains his footing and plays it off like nothing happened, even going as far as to take a little bow when he makes it to the other side with us.

“You idiot,” I breathe, stepping forward and throwing my arms around Talon, who’s still grinning like nothing is wrong, even when Thorian cuffs him on the back of the head.

“Sorry to worry you,” he murmurs into my hair, and I think he actually means it.

The wind dies down again, and we turn our attention to Fenric, who’s readying himself to start across the bridge.

Lightning strikes the rod, illuminating the space, making Fenric’s burgundy curls flash against the dark backdrop of the mud and forest.

And then, lightning isn’t the only electricity in the air.

“Fenric!” I scream, reaching out a hand to him as a streak of magic cuts a jagged line from where the warlocks stand to him.

He dodges the blast just in time, narrowly managing to avoid knocking over the lightning rod. Talon doesn’t hesitate, turning and making for the bridge, but Thorian steps in front of the vampire, holding his hand out.

“Don’t—”

“Get out of my way,” Talon warns, his voice dropping to a frigid command I’ve never heard before. It makes a shudder run down my back to hear it, but I can’t tear my eyes from Fenric, who is rolling in the mud, dodging another magic strike just in time.